


Future Thoughts

by Valaxiom



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Guns, Haigh Newn, McCree is a Stereotype and I Cry, Minor Original Character(s), Missing Scene, Pre-Canon, Shitty Robocop Cowboy Man, Speed Write, cowboy, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 16:53:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7446691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valaxiom/pseuds/Valaxiom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fall of Overwatch, McCree has to make a living somehow. Unfortunately, business is slow as a mercenary with a conscience, and when a much-needed potential deal goes south, he doesn't take it well. </p>
<p>Rated T for language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Future Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in 34 minutes for a friend who wanted "mccree and some shootout shit". I still can't take McCree seriously (anyone who needs a belt with BAMF on it in massive gold letters is a fuckin nerd), but I managed to make this angsty because that's just what I'm like as a person. Cheers!

It wasn’t high noon, and McCree was pissed.

The combination of Arizona’s blazing sun and the fact that he’d lost his hat at some point during the ambush meant that instead of his normally supernatural marksmanship, McCree was down to the skill level of an average merc. There was no respite from the blinding late-day sunlight, not in the middle of the desert. McCree was currently ducked into a shallow gully, one of the few sources of cover that was offered by the empty landscape.

This day had been shit from the start. His coffee from the little gas station on the outskirts of Phoenix had been too sweet. He’d missed his train (one that’s he’d been intending on catching in the boring, legal way, for the record), and had been forced to hitch hike with some crazy doomsday planner out to the middle of nowhere. He’d been meant to meet a guy for a potential job out here around noon, at some specific coordinates. McCree had arrived several hours late, and as a result, instead of a contact, he’d encountered a corpse and an awfully well-planned ambush. The ricochet wound in his left leg wasn’t helping his mood either.

He’d lost his trademark hat right before rolling away from the sudden sound of unsilenced guns blasting apart the desert quiet. His beloved hat was currently getting dirty on the ground, several feet away from his hidey-hole. McCree could catch a glimpse of it from his position; there was a clean hole right through the brim.

Damn bastards could sure aim, he’d say that for them. Getting his hat fixed would be a pain in the ass, and it wasn't like he could just replace it; that thing had sentimental value, dammit. 

To his own disgust, McCree hadn’t even managed to get off a single shot. He’d been too damn surprised by the sudden attack, and had wrongly assumed that this minor meeting wouldn’t ping anyone’s radars. Clearly he’d been wrong, and now some poor fool had gone and died because of his own indolence. McCree cursed quietly as he checked his ammunition. His Peacekeeper was fully loaded, but his foes were clever. They were spread out and all hidden behind cover. Jesse wasn’t even sure how many of them were after him, but if he had to guess from the number of bullets that had gone flying, he’d say at least three.

Judging by the lack of parlay, they weren’t looking to hire him. McCree assumed that this hit was probably payback for something that he’d done years back. He’d messed up enough lives, both as a member of the Deadlock gang and as a Blackwatch operative, that he’d long since lost count. The gunslinger gritted his teeth- to tell the honest truth, he couldn’t blame them for having his arrogant ass in their sights. Jesse McCree had done a lot of damage to a lot of folks, and no amount of last minute atonement could change the past.

There was was always the future, though.

McCree rolled out of the dry gully and, in quick succession, fired off three bullets in response to the guns that had resumed blasting the sand near his hat. The ambushers had given away their positions with their trigger-happy attitudes, and after three bullets found their marks, the desert was finally quiet again.

 McCree picked up his hat and dusted it off. He didn't bother checking on the man who'd been unlucky enough to get shot on his behalf- no organization with the means or knowledge to even consider hiring him would be sloppy enough to leave any identifying features on some low-level lackey. 

McCree limped off towards the nearest train station with his eyes forward and his gun loaded at his side. 


End file.
